


keep me afloat in this cold world

by searchingforstars



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (not really tho he just really loves Peter), Angry Tony Stark, Angst, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Missions Gone Wrong, Peter Parker Can't Thermoregulate, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:53:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22271368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingforstars/pseuds/searchingforstars
Summary: Peter’s just fighting to stay awake at this point, though he can’t really remember why he’s trying to stay awake? Is someone coming for him? That would be nice, he thinks.He just wants Tony. He was on a mission, right? He thinks so. Why isn’t Tony here?Peter’s teeth are chattering as he tries to force words out. He can barely move his lips. “K-K’ren? Mister St’rk? Call Mister St’rk. Pl’se?”No reply. The faint static continues. Cold surrounds him.--or, Sam and Bucky bring Peter back to the tower verging on hypothermic and Tony is an Upset Dad™ about it.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 42
Kudos: 1177





	keep me afloat in this cold world

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr, written for [this](https://searchingforstarss.tumblr.com/post/190261058003/written-for-this-anon-that-sent-me-this-prompt-a) prompt!
> 
> enjoy x

“Shit, Parker, you good?”

That’s the only thing Peter hears crackling through his comms the second he hits the ground.

It’s Bucky’s voice, and he figures it’s probably a fair question. He’s just been thrown to the ground by a blast from a some sort of energy gun that one of the crazy guys on the ground is wielding, and he, Sam and Bucky are trying their best to get them to just stop and _go the hell home_.

“I, uh, yeah, I think I’m-”

There’s a creaking sound above from where he’s still sprawled out on the ground, trying to catch his breath without exacerbating the twinging in his ribs.

He cuts himself off suddenly to raise his gaze, sucking in a sharp breath as he sees the bodega on the corner of 82nd Street that he landed beside begin to lean, the structure looking like it’s beginning to give way, groaning under its own weight.

Before he can even think about opening his mouth again to call for assistance, for someone to help him out of here, _anything_ , the whole thing collapses and caves in beside him, cracking steel, concrete and ply raining down on him.

He screws his eyes shut desperately, curling in on himself. He tries to bring his arms up to shield his head, but before he gets the chance, his right arm is pinned to the asphalt by a steel support beam. It must have have once been holding the building up but it's now clearly been rendered useless considering the majority of the building is sitting in pieces surrounding him.

He waits for the claustrophobia to set in, for the memories of Toomes to come rushing back and debilitate him but they don’t. He lets out a breathy sigh and lets the fact that he can still see the clear blue of the sky above him, the rubble not entirely hemming him in, comfort him. He’s okay. Someone will come for him.

Slightly fruitlessly, he pulls to try and tug his arm out from where it’s lodged underneath the mangled wreck of steel. Usually, he’d be able to lift it off himself without even thinking twice, but with only one working arm at his disposal and his body worn from a fight they were so _close_ to winning, he’s not exactly at his strongest. He gives one last yank, pulling on his right arm with his left but it doesn’t move. Pain races through his muscles and he lets out a muffled groan. “Ah, _fuck_ , ouch.”

“Language, tiny-tot,” Sam jibes, but when Peter doesn’t answer, too busy trying to steady his breathing, his voice grows serious. “Spider-Man. Peter. You okay under there? We saw that building go down on you, man.”

Awesome. Fantastic. How incredibly _embarrassing_.

This is what he likes about fighting alongside Sam and Bucky, though. They let him have free rein, they trust him implicitly to make his own decisions and they don’t freak out or fly off the handle the second something slightly varies from how it was meant to go - unlike Tony, who seems to find it difficult to deal with Peter getting hurt while fighting alongside the Avengers. Part of him is glad the man is preoccupied with investor meetings today. He would have lost his mind the second he saw the building go down, probably (no, scratch that - _definitely_ ). 

“Yeah, I’m okay. Most of it missed me.”

Sam seems to consider this reply because there’s silence over their line. Peter reaches up with his free hand instinctively to shove his comms deeper into his ear through the mask, to make sure it hasn’t just busted as well. In moments like this, he’s grateful that the team forces him and Tony to wear their own earpieces, despite their undying faith in both their AIs, for moments when things go awry - exactly like this one. He’s almost positive Karen is offline after the blows to the suit - both the initial blast and the impact of the building - because usually, she would be chirping in his ear by now, offering him a blow by blow recap of any damage to the suit or injuries sustained and offering assistance, which usually (or, _always_ ) involves calling Tony.

“Are you injured at all? In any pain?” That’s Bucky’s voice now, and Peter pauses to consider. He’s not in any actual pain, _really_. Sure, the steel that’s pressing against his arm and keeping him pinned down underneath the remnants of the bodega is kinda sore, but he’s not bleeding out. He’s had a lot worse than this.

“Nope, no pain. My arm’s kinda stuck though, so I don’t think I’ll be able to get myself out of this one in a hurry…” Peter admits.

“Don’t worry about it, short-stuff. Buck and I will be down as soon as possible, it won’t be longer than ten minutes, just sit tight, okay? We’ve nearly got this.”

“Will do,” Peter answers in the affirmative, “good luck.” Then, the comms line goes silent again.

He’ll be fine. Ten minutes isn’t that long. He can wait.

* * *

Turns out he and Sam must have a very different idea of ten minutes because it feels like _hours_ that Peter’s been lying here.

That would be all okay normally - he thinks he would probably have gotten the better end of the deal, settling back under here while Sam and Bucky continue to fight, if it wasn’t for the unforgiving, bitter cold of the clear New York winter day.

He’s lived in New York for his entire life, he knows how to protect himself from the bitingly low temperatures of December and January. He’s spent years bundling himself up in second-hand sweaters, coats, scarves (and then usually a beanie and gloves at Ben and May’s, and then _just May’s_ , insistence) before he steps outside. He can deal with the cold. It got a bit harder after the spider bite, getting used the thermoregulation abilities, or rather, the complete _lack_ of thermoregulation abilities of a spider, but he’s managed it.

Even so, this? This is something else. He’s got nothing but the thin material of the Spider-Man suit to protect him against the elements and it definitely, one hundred per cent, does _not_ help that along with Karen being damaged in the fall, Peter’s certain the energy blast must have short-circuited the whole suit because he’s becoming more and more aware by the second that the heater built into the suit is currently completely nonfunctional.

Peter is _freezing_ , lying under the half-decimated building on the icy sidewalk, frosty cold creeping up around him and wrapping him in its frigid hold, binding his limbs stiff and numb.

He’s trying his hardest to _not_ think about this, though, instead trying to focus on the blue of the sky he can still see above him. It doesn’t work that well, not when the tips of his fingers and lips are tingling from the chill in the air and he can barely feel his trapped arm anymore. He’s not so sure that’s a good sign.

He tries once more in vain to pull it free with as much force as he can muster, but that’s not much with the shivers running through him and cold dampening his strength.

He sort of regrets what he was thinking about Sam and Bucky before, and about Tony not being here. If Tony was here he would have had Peter dug out within minutes of the structure collapsing inwards, to hell with anything else he would be meant to be focusing on. It’s a selfish thought, Peter knows, because he shouldn’t want people to sacrifice the whole fight just to save himself from a little discomfort, but god, what he wouldn’t give to be _warm_ right now.

A groan pulls itself from the back of his throat before he can stop it when a gust of wind rushes past, sending a wave of icy air hurtling over him. He bites down on his lip as soon as he hears the sound escape his lips, but it’s too late, and his comms line is crackling to life in his ear again.

“Come in Spider-Man? Are you there? Peter?”

Peter groans again. He’s just _cold_.

“Mmm, ‘m here.”

Bucky makes what sounds like a slightly unimpressed hum of approval.

“Update us. How are you doing down there?”

Peter briefly considers brushing everything off, but one of the many things Mister Stark has been trying to instil into him, specifically to ‘ _ask for help when you need it, you self-sacrificing idiot child_ ,’ springs to mind.

“I, uh, just… how long do you guys think you’ll be? It’s kinda super cold down here,” Peter admits, trying to force words out around his numb lips.

“Hopefully only five minutes out now, I’ve just got to take out the last guy on my block then I’ll be straight down to you. Can you wait that long?”

Peter considers. Can he wait five minutes? He thinks so. Plus, he doesn’t want to seem weak. Five minutes is manageable.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. It’s just uh, my suit’s heater broke, so y’know…” Peter says, trailing off when he hears Bucky bark out a short laugh.

“Of course Stark built you a damn heater,” he quips. “I’ll see you in five. Try not to die from such tragic hardship until then.”

Bucky’s teasing like he always does, Peter can tell, but even so, the tiniest spark of indignation rises inside Peter. It’s not his fault that his stupid spidery DNA doesn’t know how to stop itself from freezing completely.

He wants _Tony_ , but his only link to him has been severed so he knows he doesn’t have any choice but to wait this one out.

* * *

Seconds and minutes seem to freeze in the chill of the air.

Time slows in the cold.

Peter’s just fighting to stay awake at this point, though he can’t really remember why he’s trying to stay awake? Is someone coming for him? That would be nice, he thinks.

He’s reduced to nothing but the shivers that wrack his body and the icy air that feels like it’s stabbing him everywhere he can reach with a thousand tiny knives, biting him right down to the bone.

At one point, he must have tried to curl himself into a fetal position because his knees are tucked up as close to his legs as he can get them, but it’s not really doing all that much and the little body heat he has left that he’s trying to preserve seems to be rapidly escaping him.

Soon there will be nothing but winter inside of him, not a single spark of heat remaining to sustain him.

He still just wants _Tony_.

He was on a mission, right? He thinks so. Why isn’t Tony here?

 _Tony_.

Peter’s teeth are chattering as he tries to force words out. He can barely move his lips. “K-K’ren? Mister St’rk? Call Mister St’rk. Pl’se?”

No reply. The faint static continues. Cold surrounds him.

* * *

There are voices in his ear somewhere, drifting around him, and he strains to focus in on them but the cold running through his veins has paralysed him and he feels like he’s far, far away. He wishes that if he has to be this far away, then it could at least be warm wherever he is, but it’s not. It’s cold.

He doesn’t want to be cold anymore.

He’s cold. So, _so_ cold.

Scraps of metal and wood are being lifted from around him, and he blinks slowly a few times behind the mask. Then the steel is dislodged from on top of his arm, but he just stares at it stupidly. He can’t feel anything. Why can’t he feel anything?

“Peter?”

Peter tries to focus his eyes above him. All he can see is dark brown hair hanging across someone’s face, dark eyes with something like worry in them, maybe. Bucky? He was here right?

Peter isn’t sure anymore. He just wants Tony, but Tony doesn’t have long hair. At least he thinks he doesn’t. This isn’t Tony.

He closes his eyes again behind the mask. Maybe if he sleeps then when he wakes up Tony will be by his side. That’s usually how it works.

His mask is being tugged up off his face and he wants to protest but that seems like a lot of effort. He scrunches his eyes up against the brightness of the afternoon, no longer filtered by the mask. Too bright. Too cold.

“We’ve got you, Peter, you need to keep your eyes open. Do you think you can do that?”

 _No._ He feels as if he’s encased in ice and it’s making his whole body feel heavy; his eyelids are hard to keep open. _It’s all too hard._

“Can’t.”

“Shit, _fuck_ , Sam, his lips are blue,” the voice - Bucky?- says, sounding worried.

Are lips supposed to be blue? Before he can answer his own question, his eyes fall shut again and the cold wraps around him, submerging him. The voices are drowned out by the steady nothingness of unconsciousness a few seconds later.

* * *

There’s a slow and steady bumping movement somewhere beneath him. Peter can’t quite pinpoint where it's coming from because his eyes still feel too heavy to drag open but he’s not sure why the pavement is moving until he realizes that what he’s lying on is far too soft to be the sidewalk.

He’s wrapped in a blanket as well. That’s nice.

There’s a low whirring, the rumbling of an engine, rubber on asphalt, and Peter knows he must be in the back of a van. He would panic, it sure seems like a situation to be panicking, but then a familiar voice fills his ears and he relaxes just a fraction.

“We need to call Stark” - it’s Sam’s voice, but that’s not what Peter’s focused on. _Stark_. He knows that name. Why does he know that name? It sounds safe and he wants them - “otherwise he’ll have a heart attack when he sees Peter when we get back and I don’t really fancy that on my conscience.”

Why is Peter going to give Stark… Mister Stark… a heart attack? He doesn’t want to do that. No, no, no.

Then there’s ringing filling the van. It’s a little shrill and high-pitched. Peter moves to tug his hands out from where they’re encased in the slightly scratchy woollen blanket to press them up to his ears when the sound is cut off by a voice.

“Wilson? If no one is dying this probably needs to wait, I’m in the middle of-”

Peter knows that voice. It’s the Stark they keep mentioning. _Mister Stark_. He’d quite like to see him right about now. Is he here?

“No one’s dying, but we just wanted to give you heads up about Peter-” - Huh. Peter. That’s him. He wonders distantly what he’s done. Nothing too awful, he hopes - “before we get back. He’s not in, uh, not exactly in the best shape.”

 _Rude_ , Peter thinks.

There’s an immediate change in tone, and Mister Stark’s voice becomes sharp at the edges with a tense kind of worry. “What happened? Do you need me down there? How bad is it?”

“We’re on our way back to the tower now, we’ve got him. He was, uh, stuck under some rubble round by 82nd for maybe twenty minutes or so, but he’s a bit out of it, and colder than he probably should be-”

“And you left him there? For _twenty_ minutes?”

“In our defence, we didn’t realise how cold it was going to be for him, he said he was-”

“Fine, right? Is that what he said? For Christ’s sake, have neither of you learnt that the kid is always full of _shit_ when he says he’s fine?”

The voice - Mister Stark, Peter’s hazy mind has to remind itself - is angry now and Peter doesn’t like that. He doesn’t want anyone to be angry with him, but he’s not quite sure how to make anything better. He whines, low and desperate in the back of his throat.

“Shit. Bad idea. Take him off speaker,” someone is saying, and then Mister Stark’s voice disappears. He waits a minute for it to return, but it doesn’t, the van only filled by the other two voices and Peter doesn’t like this. Is Mister Stark so angry that he left? He wants him back.

He whines again, stupid and needy. Where did the voice go? Where did Mister Stark go? He wants him _back_.

“ _M’ster St’rk_ ,” Peter calls plaintively, finally managing to blink open his eye as wide as he can to search for him but all he finds is Sam and Bucky sitting strapped in opposite him. He frowns when he doesn’t get an answer.

Sam glances at him briefly, before turning his attention back to the phone pressed to his ear. _Ah_. That must be why Peter can’t see Mister Stark. Doesn’t change the fact that he wants him here though. “Look, we’re nearly back at the tower. We’ll talk to you then.”

The tower sounds familiar to Peter. If that’s where they’re going then that’s okay with him. He hopes they get there soon.

After this, everything falls into silence. Mister Stark’s voice still doesn’t come back.

* * *

When they pull up in the parking garage, Peter manages to stumble out the back of the van, legs still weak and shaky beneath him as he shivers. Bucky casts a strong arm around his shoulders and he leans into the support to stop himself from pitching forward and ending up sprawled face-first on the concrete.

Tony is the first thing Peter lays eyes on.

The man had been pacing back and forth in front of the elevator when they first pulled in but stilled as soon as he met Peter’s gaze.

He’s wearing a slightly rumpled looking suit jacket and dress shirt, the top few buttons undone. If he was ever wearing a tie, it’s been discarded somewhere along the way. He’s got a navy blue blanket gathered in his arms, as well. It’s worn like it’s had one too many trips through the washing machine, but even so, it’s still stained in the odd place if you look close enough, marks that look suspiciously like hot chocolate, and maybe butter from popcorn spillages adoring the fluffy material. Tony doesn’t seem to mind as he cradles it close to his chest.

He steps forward to meet them, taking a few hurried strides before he extends the arm that isn’t curled around the blanket to sweep Peter out from under Bucky’s arm into his own. Not that it takes much effort, because Peter is reaching for him the second he’s close enough.

They meet in the middle and Peter, the cold having sucked all of the little grace he had in his body, all but falls into Tony’s arms, trusting the way his arms shoot out to catch him, wrapping around him and keeping him close. Tony’s _warm_ and it’s nice.

“Hey, Mister Stark,” he murmurs blearily into the fabric of Tony’s suit, where he’s immediately pressed his face into his shoulder. “‘M fine, I promise.”

Tony hums. He’s got his gaze fixed down on Peter, seemingly ignoring Bucky and Sam, who are standing off to the side. Peter feels kind of bad for them, but he doesn’t have the mental energy to try and deal with too many things at once. He’s tired and he still feels like remnants of cold have hidden themselves away inside of him. He can’t stop shaking. He leeches as much warmth from Tony as he can.

“I’m not all too convinced of that, kiddo,” Tony says softly, “but lucky for you, I don’t think it’s anything we can’t fix. We can’t get rid of you that easy, huh?”

Peter gives a tiny laugh, more sad and worn than joyful. “Guess not.”

Tony pulls away from Peter for a brief second, only to tug the blanket he’s still wrapped in off. It looks like it might be an old SHIELD issue one and Tony wants it off. He replaces it with the worn blue one that he’s holding and Peter instantly recognises it as the one that lives on the sofa (or folded neatly over the back, if Pepper’s home), that they curl up under during movie marathons, or the nights after the particularly hard patrols when Peter stumbles into the living room and collapses next to Tony and can’t find the energy to move to his own room. It's comforting. Familiar. 

“You’re still shivering,” Tony notes as he smoothes the blanket over Peter’s shoulders with gentle hands.

Peter nods defeatedly. “Yeah. ‘M sorry, I messed up. The suits busted. Karen, my heater, all of it.”

Tony glances over at Bucky and Sam briefly with narrowed eyes, before he asks, “ _wait_ , your heater?” Peter pulls back at the sharp, biting tone. He didn’t mean to make him angry again.

He nods cautiously. “Uh, yeah. There was a guy with a gun, um, a ray thing, and he got me with his blast.”

Tony pulls his lips together into a tense line. “We’re calling Bruce.”

“I feel fine. A little longer under this,” Peter says, gesturing to the blanket as he pulls it further around his shoulders, “and I’ll be fine.”

“Nuh-uh. You were lying there without your heater for almost half an hour, do you have any idea how _cold_ it is out there?”

Peter furrows his brows. Uh, of course he does. He’s just been _lying_ out there in the same cold Tony’s talking about. “Yeah, it’s cold, but I swear, I’m-”

“Nope. Not doing this with you, buddy. C’mon,” Tony asserts, and Peter is too tired to argue, plus the weight of Tony’s arm hooked around his shoulders is steadying and warm and he kind of doesn’t want to risk doing anything that might make it go away. He takes a few steps forward before he jolts back a little and spins around in Tony’s hold to glance back at Bucky and Sam.

“Uh, I’ll see you later guys. I’m sorry I kinda got in the way and stuff,” Peter offers suddenly. Tony decidedly doesn’t turn around, but he does pause his footsteps to let Peter take the moment.

“Don’t say that, Peter. You did great. I’m sorry we couldn’t get to you sooner,” Sam tells him. Peter smiles, albeit a little wanly.

“It’s not your fault,” Peter says softly. He hopes they believe him, but the forlorn look on Bucky’s face tells him that maybe they don’t. He also hopes they both don’t notice the way Tony stiffens at Peter’s words, as if he doesn’t believe them either.

* * *

Bruce only hovers over Peter up in the penthouse for ten minutes or so, checking his vitals and running tests for hypothermia, before eventually deciding that if Peter _was_ hypothermic, that he’s fairly stable now. Tony relaxes back into the couch - where he’s sitting next to Peter, almost shoulder to shoulder - at this.

“I’ll be back up in an hour or two, okay Peter?” Bruce tells him, but his eyes flit over to Tony as well. Peter knows what he’s doing, making sure Tony doesn't let him move from the couch. Jokes on both of them, though, because he doesn’t think he could muster up the energy even if he tried. “I just want to make sure that your temperature has stabilized and it’s not at risk of going south again. You’re sitting around 95 degrees at the moment which I’m happy with considering you run a little cool, anyway. If you can maintain that then I’ll let you go.”

“Mhmm, got it, Doctor Banner. Thank you,” Peter says, giving a sleepy nod in additional confirmation against where he’s still resting against Tony’s shoulder. It seems like a lot of words but his tired mind gets the general gist of the whole thing.

Bruce turns to leave the room and Peter turns his gaze up towards Tony. “You gonna stay?”

Tony nods obviously, as if it was a stupid question in the first place. “Course. It’s my living room after all,” he jests, “plus, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t freeze.”

“Thanks, Mister Stark,” Peter says, completely earnestly, ignoring Tony’s sarcastic comments and seeing right through them to see them as what they are. Tony offering to stay with him. Tony _wanting_ to stay with him.

“No problem,” Tony says, and his voice doesn’t sound as easy as it had before, as if he’s slightly taken aback by Peter’s sincerity. "You wanna try to rest your eyes for a bit?” Tony offers, and Peter doesn’t respond. He's tired and he's just been offered sleep, so he lets his eyes fall closed and knows that he can fall asleep safe and warm.

* * *

Peter wakes up, once again, to the sound of voices surrounding him sometime later. He feels decidedly less lethargic, but he’s still too comfortable to move so he just lies there and listens for a moment. Tony’s speaking anyway, and he sounds terse again, so Peter figures that maybe right now isn’t the best time to interrupt. He thinks maybe he’s on the phone until he hears Sam’s voice.

“We didn’t know. I had no idea about him and the cold, or why he needed his heater, I swear Tony, otherwise we wouldn’t have-”

Tony cuts him off. “It isn’t just about that though. God, he’s _sixteen_ and he was caught underneath a goddamn corner store and you left him there.”

“I know, I know, it sounds bad, and it _is_ bad, but we were all there because we had a job to do, Tony. You know how it works. There were people, _civilians_ , Peter would have killed us if we left them there to go and help him.”

Tony huffs out a sigh and grumbles half-heartedly in a way that tells Peter that he isn’t actually quite as angry as he’s letting on. He must know that Sam and Bucky are right. Because they are, Peter would have been _so_ mad if they chose to put him above everyone else. He’s a superhero, that’s not how it’s meant to work.

“Yeah,” Tony says, a tiny show of concession. “I know what we do is high stakes and I also know what he’s like. He’s irritatingly stubborn, I get it. Other things were going on, he said he was fine, whatever. But when I send him out with you guys, with any of you, I trust you to protect him. He hasn't got the experience that we do. I needed you both to look out for him and you _didn’t_. He’s a _kid_ \- he’s _my_ kid, that means I need him safe, you get that?”

Neither Sam nor Bucky have kids so they don’t look like they particularly understand the exact sentiment, but what they _do_ get is that fierce protection that radiates off Tony whenever he’s close to Peter is not something to be messed with - ever.

“I - we really are sorry, Tony. Let us know when Peter’s awake?” Sam asks tentatively, and there’s silence for a moment.

“Yeah, yeah, will do. Just get out of my living room.”

Peter waits strategically for a few minutes, staying still as he lies where he’s burrowed up against Tony. He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job of faking it until Tony speaks up again eventually, exasperation and amusement lacing his tone. “You can open your eyes now, Pete. I know you’re awake.”

Peter opens one eye tentatively and offers Tony a sheepish grin.

“How d’you _always_ know?”

“Your nose twitches more when you’re awake,” Tony says, as if that’s a perfectly normal observation to be making. Peter figures that for the two of them and the amount of time they spend together, it probably isn’t that far out of the ballpark of _normal_ \- whatever the hell that means when it comes to them. 

“They didn’t mean to, you know. They didn’t know. They looked after me real well, once they got me out and all that” Peter offers, changing the subject back to Sam and Bucky in a way that makes Tony’s shoulders stiffen just a fraction.

Tony gives a one-shouldered shrug after a moment. “Yeah, I know,” he says. His voice sounds slightly defeated, and he sucks in a sharp breath of air. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed at them for not protecting you.”

“I’m Spider-Man, I don’t need _protecting_ ,” Peter protests, but Tony just raises an eyebrow.

“I think we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on that one, kid.” He pauses for a moment. When he speaks next, his voice is lighter. “I’m making your next suit out of merino. Insulating, temperature-regulating, all that good stuff. With a heater and fabric like that, you’ll never even be able to _imagine_ being cold in the suit.”

Peter rolls his eyes up towards Tony. “That seems unnecessary.”

“I wasn’t asking for feedback. This is entirely non-negotiable,” Tony presses on, but he chuckles when Peter tugs one hand out from underneath the blanket and curls it into a loose fist to bump into Tony’s shoulder.

“You worry too much.”

“You get hurt too much.”

“Part of the job, not my fault” Peter counters, voice lowered slightly as he mutters under his breath in that petulant, teenager-esque way that Tony adores because it reminds him that Peter still knows how to act his age underneath all the superhero-bravado.

Tony pauses. “As it turns out, worrying is part of my job as well,” he says gently. Exactly what job he’s referring to goes unspoken, but at this point, they both know it’s probably gone well past the slightly distant mentor job Tony originally undertook.

Peter pauses and considers this. A barely suppressed dopey smile pulls at his lips. “Maybe we both just can’t help it,” Peter decides. Tony nods. This seems fair - and also kinda true.

“You got that right, buddy.”

Peter leans further back against the couch and curls closer to Tony, letting the man fuss for a second and wrap the blanket tighter around his shoulders. There’s probably no need, the shivers have stopped and he’s perfectly still now, body temperature holding steady. He allows it, though, and just burrows into the fluffy fabric. It feels nice to be looked after, to be protected.

He cracks one eye open again.

“Did you really have to call me _irritatingly stubborn_?”

* * *

Two weeks later, the weekend is forecast to be the coldest of the winter so far.

Peter wakes the next morning to find a suit made of merino wool, as promised by Tony, alongside a pair of gloves modified to fit his web-shooters, wrapped and sitting at the end of his bed.

He rolls his eyes but wears it once - partly just to humour Tony and partly because it really is damn cold - and he hates that it’s the coziest he’s felt on patrol all winter. He also just looks straight-up ridiculous.

(If he wears it a few more times - only on the _coldest_ of days - then that’s nobody's business).

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'passenger' - noah kahan
> 
> thanks for reading! 
> 
> come say hi on [tumblr](https://searchingforstarss.tumblr.com/)!!


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